


We Can Be Wrong

by Blackest_Night (cubedcoffeecake)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, But it is canon if you are just looking at the movie, Cute bonding by two really socially screwed up spirits, Family, Gen, None of the backstory in here is canon, On Hiatus, Post-Rise of the Guardians, Rise of the Guardians AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cubedcoffeecake/pseuds/Blackest_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being defeated by the Guardians, Pitch Black believed he'd simply be a forgotten shadow until he faded from the world. But when he stumbled across a distraught Jack Frost, both of their fates were drastically changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic makes some jumps and has some moments that appear on the surface to be OOC but will make more sense as the story goes on and their backstories develop. Ask me if you have any questions about the story!  
> Thanks for reading! God bless!

He paced back and forth, trying to ignore the strange argument going on in his head. He tried to focus on the drab black walls, observe the few pieces of furniture. A few chairs, a small table, a bed. He tried counting the number of passageways leading out of the large room. He even looked at the large glowing globe that seemed to rub in his face his defeat.

The Boogieman, Pitch Black. The King of Nightmares—former King of Nightmares—was left nothing better to do than to pace in his lair. He was unable to command his shadows, and his few remaining nightmares ignored his commands.

Pitch had absolutely nothing to do. He had no desire to leave, but nothing to do down here but try to shut out the imposing memories of times gone by and the annoying bickering in his head.

Even he often questioned his sanity as time passed. There began to be two very clear, distinct voices in his head, besides his own thoughts. One was like very familiar. Rather maniacal, almost evil. Loved fear, hated children, yatta yatta. He had been randomly hearing—and listening to—this voice for hundreds of years.

The other voice was a mystery to him. It was rather kind. It was often sarcastic, and enjoyed pointing out every stupid thing that he did. It loved to taunt him when he did something he considered below himself. It was his ego's greatest enemy. It was arguing with the other older voice constantly nowadays.

During the voices' arguments, Pitch would often call himself insane. He even read through a book of psychiatric treatments for multiple personality disorder once. …That ended poorly.

After his last defeat at the hands of the Guardians a year ago, Pitch truly doubted that he would ever have the power to rise against them again, so he didn't even bother to scheme of ways to take over the world. He didn't leave his lair to scare children, because if a Guardian caught him doing so... bad would not cover it. He didn't even hope to ever be seen again. He was certain that his chances at being believed in had run out.

All he could do was wait for something to happen. Anything. He was desperate for something to happen, and he told himself that it didn't matter what it was, that he could take anything thrown at him. He was a condemned spirit that was completely and wholly bored. What could be worse than what he'd already been through? Nothing could surprise him by now, he thought.

But he was wrong.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this appears on the surface to be really OOC for the Guardians, but bear with me.

" _Whyyy_ is he still here again?" Bunny groaned, his brow knitted in what appeared to be frustration and... hate. Jack shuddered, trying to fight back his tears.

"It's- it's just a nightmare. Just a cruel, terrible, awful nightmare," Jack thought to himself, repeating it over and over in his head, as if hoping it would block out the others' words. But it didn't.

"Don't say that. Sure, he's frustrating, but..." Tooth began. She was cut off by Bunny.

"He doesn't know when to stop! He has no sense of decency! He never obeys any of our rules! We have every right, as stated in our set of Guardian standards and punishments, to throw him out!"

"Bunny iz right. Loss ov Guardianship iz the cost ov... but he meant no true harm," North reminded Bunny gently.

"But enough is enough! And do you really think that he'll ever stop? We needed his help, that I'll agree to. But we don't need him now! He's just hindering our jobs. Do the kids need him as to be Guardian more than they need us doing our jobs properly?" Bunny argued. At this, no one spoke up. Tears stung Jack's eyes. Were they really...  _comparing_  him? Evaluating his value?

The day before Jack had frozen the Warren as a prank. He didn't know that extreme cold caused the eggs to crack and break. It really wasn't his fault. But he had been told directly not to do that, and it wasn't the only of his pranks that caused serious harm.

"But having your Guardianship removed... we would be taking away his believers as well. He'd never be seen again," Tooth tried weakly. Jack held back a terrified gasp.

Sandy made some sand images over his head. "So, do ve throw him out or no?" North translated quietly. Jack's eyes widened. Bunny immediately stuck up his paw. Tooth, slowly, raised her hand, murmuring about 'the poor kid', and North and Sandy slowly obliged.

"I- I thought- I thought you were my family. I thought you wanted me!" Jack cried out in his head. As the first of his frozen tears began to fall, he silently flew out of a nearby window.

After thinking through his situation for a few minutes on the roof of Santa's Workshop, Jack made his decision. He creeped into North's Office and took a pen and a piece of paper. After writing a short note and leaving it clearly visible on the desk, he flew off. Moments later the jolly man walked into the room, and read the letter.

**You should have just told me to my face that you didn't want me. You should've told me from the beginning that it wasn't a permanent arrangement. If you didn't want me to be a Guardian, why did you give me false hope? Why would you do this to me? I guess you weren't what I thought. I guess you aren't so perfect.**

**I'm resigning from being a Guardian. You won't ever have to worry about dealing with me again.**

- _ **Jack**_

 

He finally set down by his lake in Burgess. Jack always came back here. If there was one good thing he got from being with the Guardians, it was that he now knew why. It was where he had died.

Jack just sat there, too upset to do anything but let silent tears run down his face, for what felt to him like hours. He didn't notice the dark presence behind him until it spoke.

"What happened to you? You look almost as bad as me." Jack's grip on his staff tightened and he spun around to face the man, who he knew was Pitch Black.

"What do you want, Pitch!" Jack snapped, his patience being understandably nonexistent on this particular day.

"I do believe that I just asked what had happened to you, clearly showing that I want to know why you appear to have been crying," the Boogieman replied, slightly annoyed. Pitch's curiosity had been peaked at this point, however, and he was not about to let Jack's temper scare him off.

"That's none of your business," Jack growled. Honestly, though, he was less afraid of Pitch right now than he was of many other things. The Guardians finding him and doing who knows what to him, children never being able to see him again, and most importantly, being alone forever, like he had been before Manny chose him to fight the man now standing before him.

Pitch sighed, trying to decide what his next approach should be to extract the information from the winter spirit. Direct approach hadn't worked. Should he try to annoy it out of him... too dangerous. Being an ice cube wasn't fun. He knew from experience. Should he try to guess what was wrong? Where would he even start. Convince Jack that he was simply really,  _really_  bored and curious? Worth a try.

Whilst he was thinking through strategies, Jack was observing how Pitch's appearance had changed. There were no nightmares around, first of all. Pitch was standing tall, but his posture was not that which he would use to try to intimidate Jack. He was just standing straight, rather than bent over. He still wore the same clothes, but his face seemed a bit more... human. Hopeless, and a bit lonely. Not like the powerful man leading an army he had been last time Jack met him.

Jack was very confused. Was this really the same man that, just a year or two before, had tried to rule the world? His regal composition, his overbearing nature, seemed to have vanished. He now looked... more like Jack would have expected from a spirit doomed to eternal solitude. Sad, hopeless. Like he never expected another chance, another shot at being believed in. Jack knew that Pitch probably wasn't gonna get one.

He almost felt sympathy toward Pitch, considering his own current situation. But a part of Jack adamantly screamed at him that they were different. He was a being of winter and fun; Pitch Black was a creature of shadows and fear, who only wished harm. He wasn't like Pitch, and Pitch didn't deserve his sympathy, it insisted.

Jack was shaken from his thoughts when he heard Pitch begin to speak again. "It's not like I can abuse whatever you tell me. You should be happy to know that I can't so much as travel through my shadows, and I may never be able to again. Telling me truly will not hurt anything."

Considering this for a moment, Jack replied suspiciously, "Then why do you want to know?”

"Even I get curious," the man clad in black replied simply, walking over toward Jack and sitting next to where Jack had previously been sitting, on the bank of the pond. He looked up at Jack expectantly. Sighing, Jack decided that Pitch was far from a threat to him right now and lowered his staff as he too sat down on the bank of his pond.

"I'm not a Guardian any more, if you must know." That was it. The simple truth.

Pitch's eyes widened to the size of saucers. He _what_?! How... why...! Pitch's surprise wore off and his brain began to scream at him. **'This is it! The perfect opportunity! The Guardians won't come to his aid! You're a far better warrior, you can take him!** '

'Leave the poor thing be. Whatever happened, it clearly shook him _._ ' Pitch found himself surprised once more at his mind's argument, and especially at the kinder side. He could hardly believe that he still had a kind side. Maybe he was still partially human after all.

"What do mean?" ' **Oh yes. Such an intelligent response** **,** ' his mind snapped sarcastically. Pitch ignored it as he looked at the boy, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"I mean I'm not a Guardian anymore. They hate me, so I left," the winter spirit replied emotionlessly. In reality the amount of emotions building up inside of him were making him feel like he was about to explode, but Jack did all he could to hide them.

The former King of Nightmares looked at Jack, his gaze a mix of concern he didn't understand the reason behind and annoyance. "I was trying to trick you when I said you'd never fit in. You were the perfect addition to their little band. So perfect, I didn't want them to have you. The certainly don't hate you," he told Jack calmly.

Jack shook his head. "They voted unanimously to remove my Guardianship." Pitch's eyes widened.

"They _what_?!" Jack didn't respond. He just stared ahead of him. Pitch's thoughts raced at an incredible speed. His own memories, mostly. Soon, his shock turned into anger. As much as he hated this boy for ruining his plans and dooming him to eternal misery, losing his Guardianship put Jack in about the same place as Pitch was in. He would never be believed in now, unless he turned 'evil' like Pitch. And Pitch could honestly not see Jack doing that. As much as he would love for that to happen, that just wasn't who Jack was. But, really! How could the Guardians do that to him?! And he was practically a child!

"Did—they take away your believers?" Pitch asked. This question came out as a pained whisper. Pitch knew all too well that pain, of becoming unseen. A spirit who was a mere child having to bear that after finally getting to know what it was like  _to_  be seen... it was like letting a puppy feel warmth for one night before dooming it to live in the freezing winter forever, never to feel the warmth again.

"Yeah, I think so. They said that would happen if they removed my Guardianship. I listened in on their conversation, and heard them vote. I ran away before they could throw me out, and I resigned. They'll probably still take my believers away, even though I resigned, since they were already planning on getting rid of me. They hate me, Bunny especially. The others didn't like me, but they were too nice to do anything about it. And I did screw up a few times, pulling pranks that became catastrophic." Jack sighed, having burst out the whole story. Then, he realized something. "Why do you care? And... how did you know that they would take my believers?"

Pitch didn't respond. After a moment, he abruptly stood and left Jack sitting by the pond. He now remembered how that evil little voice had been born. He remembered it like it had just happened. Those memories he had tried so hard to banish from his mind.

_Flashback_

_"Wh—what?! No! You—you can't!" he stuttered, his eyes widening. He stepped back, beginning to feel fear's sickly bubbling growing in him._

_"What you did can never be forgiven, mate. You're a monster. The kids are better off not being able to see the likes of you." Though the others said nothing, their sentiments were clearly the same as their blunt Australian friend._

_"You are to never come back here, and you are to lose your Guardianship. You vill have all ov your believers lose their belief in you." Pitch's head began to spin. No. No! This couldn't be happening!_

_In despair, he looked to his greatest friend of the four. Sandman refused to meet his gaze, looking at the ground, almost as if in shame. Pitch shook his head in disbelief. He struggled violently as two yetis grabbed his arms and dragged him away. They threw him out the door into the snow and left, slamming the door behind them._

_Instantly Pitch turned and slammed his fists over and over on the large red doors, screaming 'no' again and again. They had taken away his entire life. And his best friend had abandoned him, right when Pitch needed him most. Pitch finally gave up and, spotting a patch of shadows, dashed into them. He felt their cool presence wrap around him as he ran toward his destination as fast as he could._

_Reaching the small home he had been after, he emerged in a small girl's room. "Emily? Emily Jane?" he asked hopefully, his voice weak as he tried to fight the fear; the despair; building inside him. To his horror, his greatest friend—out of all of the children who believed in him, she was his favorite. Emily Jane was like a daughter to him—turned and walked through him. He stepped back, bumping into a wall, before fleeing into the shadows to the deepest, darkest place he could find._

_All of his believers, even those as close to him as Emily Jane, had lost their memories of him and their belief in him. He might as well have never existed._

_End of Flashback_

Pitch shook his head violently, desperately trying to shake these terrible memories from his mind as he exited the shadows into his lair.

'You can help him _._ ' He froze. 'How would you have loved to have someone care for you after your banishment? To watch after you? For a place to stay?' The voice was right. Yes, Jack was far different than he, but still... Could he help him? And the greater question... Would he?

 

Jack hadn't moved since Pitch had abruptly left. "Even he doesn't want to waste his time with a failed Guardian," Jack thought silently. His gaze hadn't moved from where it was locked on a spot on the frozen pond since Pitch left.

He really didn't know what to do. He was scared. He now had no family. No friends. He had been here before, for 300 years. But now, there were so many things that would scream it in his face. If he saw Jamie and his friends again. If he ever ran into a Guardian. It would hurt so much. And he didn't have anything to fall back on. He'd always before held out hope that his future would get brighter. But now... what brighter future could he possibly have?

"Jack Frost? Are you still there?" he heard Pitch ask, almost cautiously. Jack ignored the caution, thinking that he was just imagining it.

"Where else would I be?" he replied nonchalantly.

Pitch took a deep breath. "I am certain that you simply wish to be alone right now... but if you ever find yourself needing a place to stay... my lair has been a bit lonely since my nightmares ditched me. Feel free to drop by if you need to. Not that I expect you will, considering that it's me..." Pitch trailed off. He realized how _stupid_   he was being. He must sound like an idiot.

When Jack turned to face Pitch to see if his face matched the sincerity in his voice, Pitch was gone. Jack stared behind himself, blinking slowly.

Had Pitch really meant any of that? No, stop. Jack couldn't even consider accepting his proposal. He was Pitch Black. He was evil. But then, something occurred to Jack. Would the Guardians tell people in the future that he was evil?

Jack pressed his lips together and forced himself to stop thinking about those things. Back to Pitch. He didn't need help. And Pitch's lair was not by any means a vacation home.

Shaking his head, Jack decided that he would never accept help from Pitch. No, he would just sit here and mope until forced to do something else. Yeah. That sounded like a great plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! God bless!


	3. Chapter 2

The first thing he heard when he began to wake from his sleep was the soft, gentle rustling of leaves, accompanied by the calming whisper of the wind. Judging by the temperature of the wind, it was Aquilo, the north wind. Aquilo could not be seen and was not exactly corporeal. He didn't actually have a body. He just was. A little like shadows, he could manifest himself to some degree, but not much.

Atabulus, the southern wind, and Jack Frost didn't get along nearly as well as Jack and Aquilo for obvious reasons. He had never really met the eastern and western winds, and knew nothing but that they existed. He and Aquilo tended to avoid Atabulus because Atabulus hated them. So they stayed up north and he stayed down south, rarely meeting. When they did, a tornado or hurricane often formed, which discouraged Jack from traveling south even more than his intolerance of heat. He had been caught in a twister they had caused once, and had barely made it out in one piece.

Jack grimaced, recalling how long it had taken for his shattered leg to heal. It had hit a fencepost in the cyclone, and Jack had learned how terrible a broken bone was. Without intending to, Jack found his hand slipping down to his shin just to confirm that it was intact. Finding it was, he smiled and let out a happy sigh.

He opened his eyes and Jack noticed that he had fallen asleep by his pond in Burgess. He yawned, and saw the Aurora Borealis dancing across the morning sky. He jumped to his feet and was about to call Aquilo to carry him to North's when he remembered the previous day's events.

_I’m not a Guardian any more._

Beginning to feel slightly dizzy, Jack sat back down before he could fall. As the sickly knot in his stomach grew in size and pain, snow began to fall around Jack. He moaned as he laid into his back, his head beginning to throb a bit.

The snow wouldn't be a problem, it was November and snow was expectable. But what would Jack do? Where could he stay?

Pitch's offer flashed into Jack's head, but he shoved it right back out again. Instead, he decided to find some small, isolated town he'd never even heard of before and give them a snow day to remember. That should, temporarily, take his mind off things. Jack smirked at the thought.

"Wind! Take me to some small and out in the middle of nowhere town that I've never been to before where I can make it snow!" Jack called. He rarely called the wind Aquilo, preferring to just say Wind.

Luckily for him, Aquilo had just the place in mind. With a laugh, Aquilo summoned a great gust to sweep Jack off the earth and into the sky, headed west.

After about three hours of flight, Jack arrived at a town that was perfect for his intentions. With a wave of his staff Jack summoned a light snow storm to form over the town. He swooped down and sped through various streets, freezing roads and sidewalks, power lines and people's coffee, laughing all the way.

A good half hour later everything in the town was frosted. The kids had been let out of school early and were beginning to gather in the town square. With a whoop, Jack landed behind a young girl and hit her in the back with one of his signature 'fun-balls', as he had taken to calling them.

"Who threw that?" she asked, spinning around. She grinned when she spotted a teenage boy who was standing behind Jack, and immediately sent a scoop of snow his way. Jack clapped his hands and hopped in delight as she hit the boy, and a full out snowball war ensued.

Happily, Jack joined in the fun. Being invisible was handy in snowball fights, he had to admit. Dodging, jumping and forts weren't necessary for him. He just got to pelt people with as many snowballs as possible. His aim was probably improved by Aquilo... but who needs to know that?

Laughing, Jack settled himself on a tree branch and watched the ever-growing group of children involved in the snowball fight. His gaze suddenly moved somewhere else; a small colorful dot flitting out a window to his left.  _A tooth fairy_.

Jack silently prayed that it wouldn't spot him, but the Leprechaun wasn't on his side. Still clutching the tooth it had just gotten, it turned its head and looked right at Jack. It squeaked and flew off, likely to alert the Guardians of Jack's presence.

The pure, unfiltered joy that Jack had been enjoying vanished instantly as the fairy disappeared from his sight. The sickening feeling he had felt that morning returned sevenfold.

"W-wind... take me... somewhere..." Jack choked, tears filling his eyes. He couldn't think of anywhere suitable, so he hoped that Aquilo could find somewhere for him to... hide... recover... whatever he was capable of. He did not want to have to deal with the Guardians right now. It was too soon after...

He closed his eyes and, to his relief—though he barely felt it—was swept up and rocketed off in a new direction. Aquilo understood just how important this situation was to Jack, and was taking him to the best place he could think of. Antarctica. Jack was one of only a couple beings who could simply take a vacation there, so he would be as safe there as anywhere.

Aquilo blasted through Atabulus's territory as quickly as possible, not in the mood for an argument. Soon he had reached the frozen continent, and Aquilo began looking for a nice place for Jack to stay. He had always felt a bit like the winter spirit was his responsibility, and since Jack had asked him to help, Aquilo was determined to find the perfect place.

Spotting a small, almost cave-like niche below an icy outcrop, Aquilo gently placed Jack in it. Jack would be safe there.

Confident that his job had been completed, Aquilo hurriedly left to explain to Atabulus why he had been in Atabulus's territory, and hopefully to get temporary free reign of a path from his hemisphere to Antarctica so that he could keep a close eye on Jack.

 

Jack Frost moaned as his eyes slowly opened. A small smiled played on his lips when he saw that Aquilo had, indeed, found him the perfect place to stay. It appeared to be isolated, it was definitely cold, and he wasn't likely to be found.

"I'm lucky to have a friend like Aquilo," Jack thought, actually using his friend's name. "I don't want to think about where I'd be without him." He paused. "Why not? I have nothing better to do."

So, he began to think of the first time Aquilo had helped him. As he selected the memory, however, he thought of something else as well and a he smirked.

Standing up, he concentrated his power through his staff and into making a chair of ice. He then turned to the wall of ice, which the chair was facing, and, with another wave of his staff, he created about three dozen mini snowmen. They were 4-6 inches tall, and were simply two tiny snowballs stacked on each other. He proceeded to sit in his chair and address the little 'children'.

"My name is Jack Frost. I'm gonna tell you what I think my life could have been if I was never friends with Aquilo, the north wind." He smirked, deciding that this could actually be really fun.

"On the day that I was reborn, a gust of wind swept me up and taught me I could fly. Without Aquilo, I would have had to walk to the nearby village of Burgess, where I learned I couldn't be seen." Jack was so engrossed in telling the story by now that he didn't even react to what he had just said.

"Then, I wouldn't have been able to fly away from there." Jack stopped for about 10 minutes, thinking about what to say next.

"Over my 300 years of complete solitude, I wouldn't have known that there were other spirits. I wouldn't have been able to travel as well in spreading my winters, and I thus wouldn't have had near as many snowball fights, making me nowhere near as good at them as I am now."

"I wouldn't have been able to help the Guardians," he was again too lost in thought to be hurt by what he was saying, "and Pitch would've won." He smirked and looked up.

"So the long of the short of it is, that if it weren't for Aquilo, you would all have never ending nightmares and I would lose snowball fights. I don't know which is worse." Jack laughed at his own joke.

After a minute, he realized that he was back to his normal self. "Huh." He grinned. "I guess all I needed was a little fun." He ignored the memories trying to surface about the Guardians that that comment about his center brought.

"Been a while since I gave those Japanese rabbits a visit. Hey Wind!" Jack called, "Take me to Rabbit Island!"

 

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clock.

Click.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick, Tock.

Pitch heaved a sigh of relief. It had taken him literally  _all night_  just to make the clock stop sounding like banging shoes and start sounding like an actual clock. And then for it to start ticking at the right speed... It was a miracle.

"That's what I get for taking a clock from a land fill," Pitch muttered to himself. He was actually rather good with old fashioned machinery like clocks. He had to be, or else he could've never even gotten the clock running again.

He actually had decided to go to the land fill looking for furniture. If he was going to spend the rest of his days in this hole, why not bring more things to randomly stare at? And really, the clock was totally worth his effort. It was a beautiful. The wood carving was exquisite, and the mechanics were still mostly intact. What better did he have to do anyway?

Pitch had run into Jack last night after picking up the clock, out to look for more 'treasures'. At first, he had been maliciously curious when he sensed a very rare type of fear nearby—a Guardian's fear. But the longer he had been with Jack, and even now, the next day, Pitch's concern for Jack was growing. He adamantly denied it to himself, to the point where he almost went back to the lake to give Jack nightmares. Instead, he somehow managed to find himself giving the order  _not_  to give Jack  _any_  nightmares.

This topic had fueled the voices in his head to a newfound loudness, and Pitch had discovered that physical labor was the only thing that would even begin to drown them out.

' **He's an ex- _Guardian_! You  _hate_  them! They deserve to die for all that they've done to you! If you refuse to hurt him, at least don't offer to  _help_  him!**' The darker voice screamed.

'He's lost. He's hurt. He's just like you were. Don't you remember? Do you really want his fate to be the same as yours?' The kinder voice asked. Pitch froze. He had been, unintentionally, paying more attention to this voice than the other the entire time. It didn't yell, scream, or command. It was softer. It… made suggestions, rather than giving orders. And thinking over his life... the pain... the misery... the loneliness... Look at him now, doomed to rot in a hole until he vanished from the world completely.

'He has hurt you. But he wasn't doing it for personal reasons. He didn't want to hurt  _you_. He wanted to help others, and defeating you, you must admit, was the best way he could've.' Well... that was true. And Jack wasn't exactly like the other four Guardians. He wasn't like Pitch either... but Jack really wasn't out for Pitch's head quite like the others were.

' **Don't listen! Take your revenge-** ‘

'Do you want him to have to suffer, like you did? Only he is a mere child. What chance does he have if the Guardians of Childhood have abandoned him?'

For the first time in centuries, Pitch ignored the dark voice, because he had to agree with the kind one's point. Jack was as good as dead. Pitch's lot in life had been bad enough; but  _he_  could handle it. Jack was a mere child. He was powerful, certainly. He could easily kill Pitch, sure. But he was still just a boy.

' **It's the Guardians' job to babysit children, not yours. You are _not_  a Guardian.**' Pitch narrowed his eyes. It was right; he was  _not_  a stupid Guardian.

'If the Guardians have left him out to dry, it probably wouldn't please them if you helped him. Truthfully, you know it won't. And though it is small, there is still a part of you that still cares about children. The part that survived  _your_  abandonment. You want to help him—you’re just allowing your pride to get in the way.' Pitch scowled angrily.

"Are you implying that I'm just a poor lost Guardian with an ego too big?" Pitch growled angrily. "I assure you, I am not." The kinder voice sighed.

'Choose; irritate the Guardians and help the child, or fall to your ego.' his scowl deepened.

"He likely won't accept my help anyway..." Pitch muttered to himself. "I suppose there is no harm in it." He sighed, and Pitch could practically see the kind voice smirking in victory.

' **Where have I gone wrong** **,** ' the dark voice complained, sounding both irritated and disappointed. After it said that… both voices ceased. A smile crawled across Pitch's face.

"Quiet at last," he breathed. He set down his tools and left his work on the clock. He could finish that later. Now, he was going to go bask in the rare, peaceful silence.

 

"What do you mean  _gone_?" The tooth fairy asked, beginning to panic. The Guardians had met in North's Globe Room as soon as they could that morning. The Aurora Borealis had been going off all night, but Sandy and Tooth were just too busy then to come.

"Jack left a note on my desk. He heard our conversation last night and resigned." North sighed. "Sadly, I still must do all things I vould do iv he had had his Guardianship removed, now iz just ov his own choice," North told her sadly. Sandy hung his head, and Tooth began to cry softly at the thought of Jack losing his believers.

Bunnymund scowled. "Why are you cryin' for that nuisance? I say good riddance." That was the wrong thing for him to say.

"Now you listen here, E. Aster Bunnymund," Tooth began, her crying ceasing. She flew up to his eye level and glared right at him. "He is a kind, sweet, fun loving CHILD! He may have made his MISTAKES, but as I recall, SO DID YOU!" she screamed at him. North and Sandy gaped at her, backing away slowly. Bunny just returned her glare.

"I understand you two aren't the best of friends, but at least he was trying! He's a boy! And he was the Guardian of FUN! Do you really expect him to be a solemn, boring, rule obeying person?!" Tooth looked like she could murder at this point, and even Bunny was looking a slight bit nervous.

"You had logical, rule set reasons to throw him out, but DON'T YOU DARE BE HAPPY ABOUT IT!" She added, causing Bunny to flinch.

"Okay, okay, I got it Tooth," he mumbled. He started to turn, but she grabbed him, clearly not done yet.

"If I ever—EVER—hear a WORD about you TOUCHING Jack, you are DEAD! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" Bunny nodded quickly.

"I'm not saying that we have to go bring him back. You provided sufficient reason to remove Jack's Guardianship. But I am fairly confident that neither I, Sandy nor North are going to hurt Jack more by rubbing it in his face or by being mean to him." Sandy and North nodded slightly.

"I have faith in Jack. There is something in him that he never showed us. I know memories, but I also know people. Jack is a very special person. Life paints him in a bad light, but he always comes through. Just like he did on Easter."

With that last bit, Tooth turned and flew out the skylight. Sandy, Bunny and North watched her in silent astonishment. Sandy eventually left to spread more dreams and North went back to his toy making. Bunny remained, half scared of what Tooth would do to him if he so much as frowned at the winter spirit, and half of him angry beyond belief about the whole matter.

With a huff-like sigh, Bunny tapped his foot and tunneled back to his Warren to continue his Easter preparations, even though it was half a year away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! God bless!


	4. Chapter 4

"Bridget! Two lateral incisors in Cairo! Melanie, there you are! What took you so long?" Queen Toothiana stopped giving directions to her fairies to face one fairy in particular, who should have been back with the tooth she had been tasked with collecting 10 minutes ago.

The tardy fairy began chirping rapidly to her leader. Tooth went into panic mode when the little fairy told her that she had spotted Jack Frost.

Should Tooth go talk to Jack? Or tell the other Guardians where he was? Knowing where Jack was made Tooth want to go fix this whole problem... but there was nothing that she was allowed to do.

The Guardians had strict and particular rules that must be followed. Why do you think that tooth fairies always hide from children? Why do you think that no one has ever seen Santa or the Easter Bunny? Why don't the Guardians intervene whenever they see a child being hurt or abused? Lost in the woods, or starving on the streets? They're not allowed to.

The rules were created by Tsar Lunar himself and no one, and I mean _no one_ , ever breaks them, no matter how much they might want to. The rules were set in place for a reason; to be followed. They kept the Guardians' work in order despite the constantly changing society.

But sometimes the rules hurt. Having to know that you could've helped that child, but they had to have been hurt so that you didn't affect the greater good. Not being able to go after Jack because ex-Guardians must all be treated as threats, even if they weren't.

No, she couldn't go after Jack. Tooth wanted to, but Jack was to be left alone by the Guardians. An ex-Guardian could only be a neutral party or a foe—not a friend. Tooth sighed, wishing that this mess had turned out differently.

 

"Could you- I dunno, turn it down a little Aquilo? I mean, cold doesn't  _really_  bother me, but this is pretty extreme," Jack yelled over the storm. He was curled up in a ball, clutching his staff so tightly that his knuckles were whiter than the snow falling in torrents around him. There was a blizzard that his earlier loneliness had caused, and Aquilo's strong gusts of wind weren't helping. Jack was trapped in the crevice where he had been the day before.

Yesterday he had visited Japan, swung by China, and checked out a town in Taiwan. But at the end of the day, he had drifted back to the spot Aquilo had found him the day before to try to get a good night's rest. He had quite forgotten at the time how the infamous blizzard of 1968, and many, many other blizzards for that matter, had been formed. Whenever he was lonely, a blizzard would form. The lonelier he was, the worse the storm. And he had been very lonely the day before when he was brought to this part of Antarctica.

Now here he was, wondering, actually considering... would he be even a tinier bit less lonely around Pitch? The less lonely, the calmer the storm. They were sworn enemies, but... if all failed Pitch would be left with a pretty sweet blizzard. And I mean, how much worse could it be with Pitch than here? He was a crazy, fear loving creep who would probably give Jack nightmares, but that sounded a whole lot better than a giant out-of-control blizzard.

He willed Aquilo to carry him toward Burgess. A visit to his lake couldn't hurt, right? And if he decided to stop by Pitch's... it would be conveniently close. Jack began to rocket north, hardly noticing the water below him or the snow around him. But suddenly, glancing up, Jack stiffened in terror. There, before him, was the largest hurricane he had ever seen. And he was headed straight for it. He yelled to Aquilo, but even the north wind couldn't pull him out of this mess.

Jack was caught in one of the whirling winds, and began to be blown around and around and around at speeds far faster than he could remember ever traveling before.

And then, it got worse.

The gust of wind he had been riding threw him out of the never ending circle, which should have been a good thing. But at the sudden change of direction, Jack  _lost his grip on his staff_. He and his staff both plummeted toward the ocean below. Try as he might, Jack couldn't reach the staff to grab it, and it was soon whisked farther away from him by the hurricane's winds.

As the surface of the water grew closer, Jack became increasingly terrified. He had always maintained hydrophobia, thanks to how he had died. This… It was truly worse than anything he could have previously imagined.

The impact of his body on the water was crushing. It felt like every bone in his body shattered. Jack couldn't see around himself because of the dark water engulfing him. He had been cursed with somehow staying awake through his fall to feel himself drown. To feel the pressure build, and the water rush into his lungs as he sunk and sunk deeper and deeper.

And then he finally lost consciousness.

 

He had  _finally_  gathered his wits and forgotten this whole mess. Whatever accursed  _human goodness_  that was left in Pitch and had caused him to make that ridiculous offer to Jack Frost was gone once more, and as far as Pitch concerned, he was saying 'Good riddance’ and forgetting about the whole matter.

He had chosen a new home, somewhere where _no one_ would _ever_ find him. Deep underground, the only way to enter this tunnel system was a hole in a rocky outcrop in a remote part of Iceland.

Well, maybe also via North's snow globes and Bunnymund's rabbit holes... But they wouldn't be coming to look for him.

But due to his wonderfully lucky lot in life, just as he was getting ready to go look for furniture again—which a part of him still couldn't believe he had been lowered to doing—, he felt something. Something unfortunately familiar.

For whatever reason, Jack Frost was terrified again. Only this time, the fear was significantly stronger.

Pausing, Pitch focused on seeing what type of fear this was. Hydrophobia. Made sense—though he had no idea why, the boy was terrified of water. Pitch fixed onto the location the fear was coming from and was unsurprised to find the source was deep within the Southern Ocean.

Quickly, Pitch made his way through the shadows to the land mass nearest to where the fear was radiating from, and then used what very little power he had left after the jump to create a cloud of nightmare sand to carry him to where he could watch whatever mess Jack had gotten himself into this time.

His plans were changed slightly when he took notice of the very large hurricane spinning nearby. He directed his cloud to go in a semicircle, arcing widely so that he came nowhere near the dangerous winds. It only took him a few seconds to move around it and onto the other side at the speed Pitch was going, but those seconds ticked by very slowly as he watched the massive hurricane.

When Pitch did round the hurricane, he realized what had happened to the winter spirit. He could see Jack’s bright blue hoodie as it sank deeper and deeper toward the bottom of the ocean. Jack was already many yards below the surface, and Pitch could understand now why he was so very afraid.

And then the annoyances returned.

'What are you doing, just standing there?! Go help him!'

' **He is Jack Frost. Why would you help him? What do you care if he drowns?** '

'Do you really want to see him die? The only one who could ever understand your pain? You are evil, but you are _not_ a murderer. _Help him_ **.** '

Pitch had turned his cloud around to leave after the dark voice had spoken. He had agreed with it, and he had already seen what he had been curious about. But the other voice struck a nerve. ... ** _not_** _a murderer_...

_Flashback_

_Pitch Black paused a moment to think. It was the first time he had stopped his work in a while. Months, even. He had been very busy since the dawning of the Dark Ages. So many believers! It was truly wonderful. He had always had difficulty finding believers, unlike his fellow Guardians._

_And now, with these believers, he had plenty of extra work keeping them all on their toes. He didn't want his believers to forget about him. Maybe he was overdoing it a bit... but only a bit._

_Pretty much the only children who he didn't constantly terrify were those who had believed in him before the Dark Ages began. Katherine, Fredric, William, Elizabeth, Mabel, and Lewis. And, of course, Emily Jane. Those who believed in him before the rest of the world held special places in Pitch's heart._

_Back to current events. He had run into Death five times that day. Countless times that week. The sixth time he saw her, he stopped her. He had asked her why she was so busy. She had looked at him quizzically, as if surprised he did not know the answer._

_"The plague that you brought with this Dark Age, of course. While I don’t normally fetch souls myself, my aids are being overworked, so I’ve been stepping in myself."_

_She had left immediately after telling him that, leaving him stunned. He had meant only to make children believe in him. Believe in fear. A plague? He hadn't meant to bring a plague!_

_Different Flashback_

_"You brought about the Dark Age. You left children and adults screaming and crying! Caused wars! A plague! You're nothing but a cold-blooded murderer!" Bunnymund screamed at him. The other three Guardians stood around him and Bunny in a semicircle, clearly agreeing with Bunny._

_Pitch's heart dropped. He wasn't a murderer! He hadn't meant the children harm! Fear was necessary, and he was just trying to increase it so that he could be seen! Not everyone was blessed with centers the children liked, like the other Guardians were! And he had never thought that the humans would declare war on one another! Maybe he went overboard. Sure, his enjoyment of seeing fear could be easily confused with evil. His smirk when he scared someone was terrifying. But that's just who he was! Why couldn't they understand?!_

_"The punishment for the acts you have committed against the children—and adults—ov this world are to be punished by the stripping ov your Guardianship," North announced firmly._

_"Wh-what?! No! You-you can't!"_

_Flashback over_

Pitch shuddered involuntarily. He was _not_ a murderer. Focusing back on the current events unfolding around him, Pitch willed his cloud to move closer to the ocean.

He just knew he was going to regret this.

 

Cool. Dry. Quiet. Dark. _Not water_.

These were the things that flew through the young winter sprite's mind as he slowly forced his eyes open. He remembered, clear as crystal, the events preceding his losing consciousness.

Falling. Hurting. Drowning.

So how was he here? Where was here? And... was it just his imagination, or was there... breathing a few feet away from where he lay? He heard scurrying from the direction of the breathing, and was that—neighing? And then suddenly, both sounds were gone.

Jack tried to sit up, and his fingers gripped for his staff to defend himself, but Jack found no staff at his fingertips and discovered that he was too limp and weak to sit up.

His heart began to pound as Jack's fear grew. "Where am I? Is-is there someone there? Where's my staff?" he called. To add to his uneasiness, someone replied.

"You're in my new home. Obviously, I am here. And as for the whereabouts of your precious piece of wood... considering as I found you drowning in the Southern Ocean, I haven't the slightest idea where it is." The voice—now clear to Jack to be Pitch- paused for a good long moment. "I did look for it a bit, though.”

Jack's eyes grew wide as he realized—somewhat—how he had gotten to where he currently was. But before he had time to ask Pitch why he sounded _sympathetic_ , Pitch began to speak again.

 "I am certain that you do not wish to stay here any longer than you must. But, considering as I had to save you from Death herself—personally, too, you should be honored. Nowadays, she only comes to take your soul personally if you're really something special—you may want to rest a bit before leaving. Since I know you are young and young people are always full of questions, I will answer your questions—those which I choose to answer—once you are finished resting. I suggest you think through your questions thoroughly before asking them, for without your staff, you are rather at my mercy. And though I cannot assure you a nightmare-free sleep, I can assure you that my nightmares will not kill you. Until you wake, at least.

“Goodnight, Jack Frost."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! God bless!


	5. Chapter 5

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Pain.

Jack's eyes snapped open and he jumped up, reaching for his staff, which wasn't there. Instead, there was a nightmare glaring at him with its best horse-glare. Quickly glancing around, Jack realized that the nightmare had been kicking the bed he was resting on until the bed's legs broke and the bed fell to the floor, jolting Jack into consciousness.

The nightmare whinnied and then tossed its head, turning around and walking out the door. Jack stared after it. It had clearly wanted him to follow... but should he?

He remembered the events of the previous day clearly, but was unsure of if he actually wanted to be here or not. Wherever here was. And he needed his staff. Though really, there was no way he'd be able to find it. He'd just be a powerless, helpless spirit wandering around unable to do anything.

Considering that, staying with Pitch was beginning to look up a little. Well, ignoring that he's a creep who scares children... Jack shook his head to stop thinking. His thoughts were going everywhere.

Reluctantly, he stood to his feet. The nightmare instantly started trotting off, and Jack found himself struggling slightly to keep up with it. "Wow, not being able to fly is worse than I thought," Jack thought. He hadn't really run that much in years. Why, when you can fly? Well, he was certainly going to get some practice in now.

The nightmare led Jack past at least a dozen doorways. Pitch didn't seem to have a thing for doors, but apparently he loved rooms. Being himself, Jack looked into each and every one. Honestly, there was a room for everything imaginable! He passed library after library—who needs dozens of libraries?!—, bedrooms and bathrooms, a couple of living room-like places, and tons of workrooms, each with a different project half done inside it.

Really, the only thing that was consistent throughout all the rooms was the color scheme. Everything—and I mean  _everything_ —was either grey or black. There was hardly anything light anywhere! Jack wasn't even sure how he could see, it was so dark! Then again, it was  _Pitch Black's Lair_...

"Ummm... Large, creepy, terrifying, slightly awesome horsey that could probably give me nightmares for eternity or trample me to death—would you mind either slowing down or telling me where we're going, or both? Well, I guess you can't really talk, and you're probably taking me to Pitch..."

By now, Jack was getting just plain bored.

"Hey, why aren't there other horseys around? Don't you get lonely?"

The nightmare still ignored him.

"Are you a girl or a boy?"

Nothing.

"You wouldn't happen to know where the bathroom is, would you?"

That one was just a joke.

"I really wish I could fly right now."

"Can you even understand a thing I'm sayi-"

Jack stopped in the middle of a word, his feet seeming to freeze to the floor he was standing on as his jaw fell open and he gaped, half in terror from his memories of this place and half in amazement at how much it had changed since he had last been here.

The nightmare had led him to the large cavern with Pitch's globe and the hanging cages. Well, probably not the same one, considering Pitch had said he had moved, but it looked nearly identical.

"Ah, I see you are awake. Been enjoying the scenery, I am sure?" Jack couldn't tell exactly where Pitch's voice came from. He asked the question in a tone that lacked hostility, but Jack could picture the angry sneer likely on Pitch's face.

"Oh yeah, it's been great. Black and gray are at the top of my list of favorite colors. Right above puke green and red. Just love it." The sarcasm was obvious, but Pitch ignored it.

"Wonderful! I thought you'd like blue more, personally, but it is marvelous that you like black. You will likely be stuck here a while anyway." Now Pitch sounded positively  _cheerful_. Jack wasn't sure which was worse. Angry enough to decapitate you, or happy. Seriously, the Boogeyman  _happy_  was utterly terrifying.

"Yeah... umm... hopefully not too long..." Jack responded weakly. Pitch's laughter rang throughout the entire cavern. Apparently he found that remark very funny. And again, his laugh sounded amused. Absolutely nothing like his evil laughter from when he was about to take over the world.

"Oh my dear Jack, we both know that without your staff or your Guardianship, this is truly the safest place for you right now. I have no interest in killing you. Unlike, I'm sure, many other spiritual entities." Jack gulped.  _That_  was an understatement. "And since your staff is probably at the bottom of the ocean, you'll likely be staying here until I fade from existence, and possibly after." Jack paused.  _What_?! "So go ahead and make yourself at home. There are not many amenities, but knowing you, you'll manage."

Jack barely hear Pitch's last statement. "You're- you're  _fading from existence_?" The horror in his voice was clearly hears.

Pitch gave a barely audible sigh. He hadn’t meant to mention that. "When you've been around for as long as I have, it's bound to happen sooner or later. Do you really think that my timing to try to take over the world was randomly chosen?" Jack was about to say 'Yes,’ but Pitch continued to speak. "I knew that my days were numbered, and was trying to secure my survival for a few more centuries."

He didn't get it.

"But... but you said that as long as there was fear in the world, we couldn't get rid of you!" Jack wasn't even thinking about how he had said 'we'. He was too terror-stricken at the thought of someone actually fading into nothingness. Even if it was his arch-enemy. He had always been terrible at holding grudges, anyway.

It was several minutes before Pitch responded. His voice was softer, and more guarded. "I was bluffing, Jack. Hoping to scare one of you. Fear will always live, but I will not always command it."

Jack could feel the shift in the darkness when Pitch left the room, but was too distraught to care.  _He was actually dying_?! Nonononononono! Jack did  _not_  deal with death well. And fading from existence?! That was so much worse! He really should have thought that this was Pitch Black he was thinking about. Think of all the evil he'd done. Nightmares. Fear. But he just couldn't stand the thought of Pitch's disappearing. Possibly because he was one of the few people left who could see him, and probably the only one not interested—or so he'd said—in killing, or at least hurting, Jack.

Trying to keep from thinking too hard about this, Jack decided to explore. Get his mind off this topic until he could press more information out of Pitch. He doubted there was anything he could do... But the thought of someone just fading away was too much for him to stand. He would do something about it. He would. He just wasn't sure what yet.

 

' **Why would you tell him that?! What were you thinking** **?!** '

Pitch moaned. Oh joy. They were back at it again. And really, must he always give them such wonderful ammunition for their arguments?

'It hasn't done any harm. The boy would've discovered eventually anyway.'

"Thank you," Pitch murmured under his breath to the second speaker. He hated being ridiculed by anyone. Most spirits had learned the hard way, one time or another, that he had a relentless temper, which always reared its head anytime someone made fun of Pitch. Even mention his encounter with that Chimera, for instance—which is a story for another day—, and you could expect a few broken ribs and nightmares for the next century, as well as Pitch himself randomly scaring you out of your wits when you least expected it. Yes, his temper was just short of legendary.

After talking to Jack and having to deal with the return of the voices, Pitch seriously needed to be able to clear his head and think this whole thing through. He had always prided himself with finding and accepting the truth, no matter how difficult to find or understand.

So now, he wanted—no, he  _needed_ —to get an un-biased view on this entire situation. What to do with Jack, the voices in his head, the rest of his life... He simply needed to sort it all out and come up with a logical solution. He'd always managed before; now should be no different.

But sadly, it just was.

The voices were beginning to give him a migraine, and they would  _not_  go away, no matter what he tried. Pitch really wanted to throw Jack into a random snow drift, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave a fourteen year old boy out in the world, helpless, hopeless, and with the Guardians after him. Perhaps he was growing weak in his last days, but he simply could not bring himself to do it. The sentiment that had caused him to offer Jack the opportunity to join him in Antarctica before he broke the boy’s staff had grown into an annoying essence he could not get rid of. And now that Jack's staff was gone, he was helpless. He truly _couldn’t_ take care of himself anymore.

Pitch groaned aloud. Alright, he would allow Jack to stay if that was what the sprite wished. It couldn't hurt. And he had been finding his new lair a slight bit stuffy—Jack’s naturally cold aura could make it more pleasant.

"What a day," Pitch thought. "I am entirely ignoring the opinions of both of the strange voices in my mind, and have come up with my own solution. That might be a first."

 

"Pitch did say anywhere, right?" Jack asked the nightmare, not really expecting an answer. He hadn't seen a single nightmare but this one, but she—Jack figured that a night'mare' must be a she—had been following him around everywhere he went, like a cross between a puppy and a babysitter.

After wandering about for a while, Jack had completely forgotten his earlier panic and the fact that Pitch was  _dying_ , and he was now standing in the doorway of a room he really wanted to go into but was really nervous about going into.

It appeared to be a really large, really awesome armory.

Yes, this was practically Jack's dream come true. Oh, how cool could that stuff be?! But then again, he was well aware of how rare something could be, or how much he could damage with a real weapon. He'd never actually held a real sword before, or more than seen a bow and arrow. And he could see dozens of both from his position in the doorway. All the harm he could cause though...

Because of the 'incident' that had cost him his Guardianship, Jack was extremely wary of screwing up again, especially since he couldn’t imagine anyone else being willing to let them stay like Pitch was. He might not be the ideal host, but at the moment, he was Jack’s only option. But Pitch _had_ said to make himself at home...

 

He jumped from his chair, nearly screaming—though he'd never admit it—when he heard the sudden noise. It sounded like something breaking. Like ice breaking, but harder. Almost like metal breaking. Or just hitting something. Yes, like something metal hitting something. The high-pitched, resounding quality of the sound made that seem like a reasonable possibility.

"What, down here, could possibly have-" Pitch's quietly spoken thought was cut off by a voice.

' **You let _Jack Frost_  stay in your lair. Were you seriously expecting him not to break something? I just can't wait to see how he broke whatever it is. He finds more ways to destroy things than you can**.' Pitch scowled.

'As much as I hate to admit it, it probably was the boy. You should go find him.'

"I'LL DO WHAT I WANT!" Pitch yelled, silencing both parties. He huffed in relief, though still very angry. Not really with Jack. He found the voices invading his own mind far more frustrating and concerning.

With a reluctant sigh, Pitch walked to a nearby wall and used the shadows to find Jack. When he stepped into light once more and looked around, he nearly had a heart-attack.

His armory.

Of course Jack had found the armory.

' **Told you he'd do something catastrophic**.'

Pitch rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

He cleared his throat. "Um, Jack? Is–is everything alright?" he called, still laughing a little.

"Pitch! Oh, thank goodness you somehow found me! Help!" Oh no.

"Where are you?" Pitch asked, striding forward into the massive cavern he kept his weaponry in. It was a bit too bright in this room for his taste. He kept it that way so that the surroundings were more realistic to where he'd likely actually be fighting, but right now, the light was proving to be most annoying.

"I'm not exactly sure." Jack's voice was muffled and strained. "I'm definitely under something heavy—and it's really, really dark. Pitch black, really." Pitch ignored Jack's jesting remark.

"What were you doing to get where you are now?"

"Weeeell... I saw this super cool looking sword, so I picked it up and swung it around, but then there was this loud noise, and then something fell on top of me... and that's it."

Wonderful. He knocked the ceiling down onto himself, most likely. "Can't really blame him, though," Pitch thought silently. "I have gathered some incredible human weaponry over the years." Pitch almost smiled at the mental image of Jack attempting to swing a sword as heavy as he was. Almost. He hadn’t lowered himself to that level quite yet.

It took nearly 10 more minutes of looking, but Pitch finally managed to find a spot of the training room where the ceiling had collapsed. The ceiling was a bit lower in this spot, and it was plausible that Jack was under the pile of rubble. Plus, Onyx—his last loyal nightmare, whom he had tasked with following and keeping an eye on Jack—was nearby. When he asked her, she relayed that she wasn't sure what exactly had happened. One minute, Jack had had a sword, and the next, there was nothing but a pile of rocks. Pitch was growing concerned though. No matter how many times he called to Jack, he received no response. It seemed that the sprite had lost consciousness. After all the effort Pitch had gone through to keep this boy alive, he really didn’t want Jack to die. It would be a waste of his precious time.

Albeit very reluctantly, Pitch began to haul the rock off Jack, little piece by little piece. It took him nearly 2 long hours, due to his weakened physical prowess, but he was finally able to free the boy.

Jack was, indeed, unconscious. There was a long, deep cut across his forehead that clearly explained why. With a sigh—he seemed to be sighing often as of late—, Pitch picked Jack up in his arms and carried him into the shadows, Onyx closely following.

They exited the shadows in Pitch's equivalent of an infirmary. Ordering Onyx to go retrieve some bandages and alcohol from a cabinet on the far wall, Pitch gently lay Jack on a mat that served as the infirmary's cot.

Onyx brought him the supplies he needed and Pitch began to clean and dress Jack's wound. It needed stitches, but he didn't have the materials for that. They'd just have to do without.

Cleaning the wound was so automatic for Pitch, he really didn't need to think about what he was doing. Before becoming like he was now, he had often nursed his companions' wounds. He had also had to doctor himself many a time. This was perfectly normal to him.

But to Jack, who had, unbeknownst to Pitch, woken up, this was far from normal. When first learning to fly he had fractured a few bones, but never before had he actually had a properly-dressed wound. Not as a spirit, at least.

Though very uncomfortable, Jack was inwardly marveling at both Pitch's expertise in this skill, and the fact that Pitch was helping him. Jack hadn't been with the Guardians long enough for something like this to happen, and for him to need their help. It was new to him, but he could tell that he definitely liked it.

Being as innocent-minded as he was, Jack didn’t think about how many wounds Pitch must have cared for to become this skilled, he thought of what the room he was in might look like. Since the wound was on his forehead, he had to keep his eyes closed for Pitch to treat it.

The hospitals he had seen were usually all white. But this was in Pitch's lair. Would it be all black? Probably so. That made sense.

How big was it? Was he in the only bed, or were there more? Where did Pitch get the silk-like sheets Jack was laying on top of?

His endless trail of thoughts caused him to not notice that Pitch had finished bandaging his head, and was now leaving the room.

As he was about to step into the shadows, Pitch paused and looked back one more time. Seeing Jack lying on the cot reminded him greatly of his daughter. His dear, dear daughter. Pitch hadn't thought of her in literal decades. Centuries, even.

Pitch shook his head and entered into the shadows, deciding not to waste his thoughts on a subject so painful and unfixable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is my birthday, so you get a chapter!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and God bless!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only a half written chapter I went ahead and posted. As most of you probably noticed a long time ago, this story is on hiatus. If I ever can, I want to return to this story and finish it, but I have no idea if that's possible. Still, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

When Jack next awoke, it was morning again. Of course, there was no actual way for him to know it was morning, he could just feel it in his bones.

Looking around at his surroundings, Jack saw that the infirmary he was laying in wasn't quite what he had imagined. It was indeed black, but its size was small, compared to the grandeur of most of the rooms Jack had observed here. The cot he had slept in was the only bed, and aside from that, the room was bare, but for a few small black cabinets and a black sink. At least Pitch had some care for sanitation.

With a quiet moan, Jack sat up on the cot. Well, he tried to. The moment he lifted his head from the pillow, it began to throb. It hurt far worse than anything Jack could ever remember feeling, and he quickly laid back down. The pain dimmed, though he was still well aware of the gash on his forehead.

"I'm never touching a sword again," Jack moaned dramatically. Unbeknownst to him, Pitch, who had been summoned by Onyx the moment she had seen the boy begin to stir, had been standing in the doorway. At Jack's remark Pitch rolled his eyes, and thought to himself, "I strongly hope that I was never quite  _that_  dramatic. He's being ridiculous." Pitch often was, but no one would ever be foolish enough to tell him that.

"It's not the sword's fault. You just need to learn to use it properly," Pitch chided him in an annoyed manner. After jumping slightly at Pitch's voice, Jack rolled his eyes and muttered Pitch's words to himself in a ridiculous voice under his breath. Luckily Pitch hadn't heard him, or he might have tossed the boy out the door right then. But Pitch was busy sifting through his cabinetry, looking for some form of painkiller. He never used any on himself, but Jack clearly needed it. Whereas Pitch was–sadly–used to injuries and dealing with them, the frost spirit was young, and had very little experience with extreme pain.

Mulling over this thought as he continued to look for medicine, Pitch wondered who would ever teach Jack about treating wounds. Pitch had learned from his father, while still human. But that was a painful memory, as were most of his memories, so he quickly moved on. Bunnymund had learned from his tribe, most likely, Toothiana from books, North from the Cossacks, and Sandy... Well, he didn't know about Sandy. But who would teach Jack? He was an outcast to them. A traitor, even, if they ever learned he had accepted Pitch's help. But if they wouldn't show him, who ever would? It was sad, really, because Pitch knew that he'd likely never learn. Jack would go through his existence lacking basic knowledge, with no way to learn it, because no one would ever teach him.

'You could.'

Pitch froze. That thought hadn't even crossed his mind.  _Him_?  _Him_  teach Jack?

"What are you looking for? Oh, and can you make my head stop hurting? I know that's kinda a lot to ask, but I don't know how."

And there it was. Jack was almost  _asking_  Pitch to teach him. Without even realizing what he was doing, Pitch had closed the cabinet, which, sadly, had not contained any painkillers, and was striding over to Jack's mat.

"I can't find you any painkillers, so this process will be a bit more painful than it would be with them."

He ignored Jack's, "Obviously."

"So that next time something like this happens you ca fix yourself up, I'm going to tell you what I'm doing. Now listen carefully, because I won't be helping you again.

"You start by..."

And so Pitch Black, the former Nightmare King, found himself teaching Jack Frost, whom he viewed a mere week before to be his greatest enemy of all the Guardians, how to properly tend to an injury. He soon found himself digressing to teaching Jack about caring for broken bones, fractured bones, sprains, bruises, and nearly every other injury as well. Much to his surprise, Jack was still, quiet and listening attentively the entire time, which simply encouraged Pitch's newfound teacher-side more.

 

Jack had taken advantage of Pitch's teaching. Never before had anyone ever tried to teach him anything. He soaked up all of the information about diagnosing, cleaning, setting, and wrapping injuries like a sponge. Though no one had ever really noticed–no one had ever really seen him before, and the Guardians hadn't taken the chance to learn this much about him–, Jack had an incredible memory. It wasn't a problem for him to take in everything Pitch told him. In fact, he found himself wanting to learn more. He had continued to ask Pitch (very intelligent) questions, carrying their conversation on for hours. When Pitch finally left, Jack fell asleep, happy, despite not having a dream.

Though he had been too happy to notice, Pitch had stayed in the doorway to the infirmary long enough to see how joyful Jack was before he drifted to sleep. It truly struck him. Without trying at all– _at all_ –, he had made the boy happier than Jack had been since before Pitch first saw him at the lake a few days previous.

Could he really do that? Bring someone joy like that?

A part of him was utterly revolted by it. You know which. ' **You bring _fear_! You're a monster who terrifies kids for entertainment! You are not some teacher! And you certainly do not make people happy**!' it yelled at him. And, he admitted, it was right. Completely right. So why did he feel almost... sad?

'You aren't just a monster. There's still a man in there somewhere. A smart man who understands the benefits in teaching this boy.'

Pitch's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'understands the benefits in teaching this boy'?" he thought, angrily and demanding. He hated being called good. He was the Boogeyman for goodness sake!

'You are fading.'

"Brilliant observation. I hadn't noticed."

'All of the knowledge you have acquired is fading with you. By teaching the boy, you are leaving behind a legacy. A part of you, your knowledge, won't die. It will remain in the world as long as Jack Frost is in the world. You won't be completely forgotten.'

It was the last line that actually made him consider it. The last line hit a nerve. For that is exactly what had happened in the Dark Ages: Everyone had simply forgotten about him once the other Guardians, representing happier, more enjoyable traits, came. He had been forgotten. Over and over, forgotten. Forgotten by the world; forgotten by his Kathryn; forgotten.

The dark voice knew it had been defeated, and did not fight as Pitch slowly came to the decision that, maybe, the light voice was onto something. It allowed him to make the decision to try to teach Jack. To show him whatever the boy would let him show, and tell him all that he knew. It began scheming ways to change his decision, but, for today, Pitch had finally, for the first time in hundreds of years, set one shaking foot back on the right path.

He finally began to show again who he once had been.

 

Bouncy.

Energetic.

Hyper.

Excited.

Fresh.

Any other antonym of tired.

That is what Jack was as he lay on the cot in the infirmary. He had woken up less than 5 minutes ago, but was already bored to the point of having a mental debate over if spiders are creepier, or snakes. He blamed the subject of his thoughts completely on Pitch.

He was dying to jump up, run around, play, have a snowball fight, fly, ski even! Anything but lay around doing nothing.  _Anything_. He would do manual labor! Mop, dust, garden, carry stuff–at least then he would be moving. Moving, and not stuck in this one place, with a killer headache, no painkillers, and nothing to do.

Whilst he was thinking about this was when Pitch was reaching his decision to try to teach Jack. Jack's focus soon moved on to counting the hairs on his hand.

Miraculously, this entertained him for the better part of an hour, but then he was just as bored as he had been before.

Luckily for him, that was also when Pitch struck an idea. It was perfect! It would entertain Jack, he could teach Jack something–assuming Jack wanted to learn. But Pitch was rather certain that he would–, and Pitch would get something out of it.

With a broad smirk on his face and a bounce in his step, Pitch ordered his shadows to take him to Jack's room. Much to his annoyance they ignored him, and he was forced to walk there instead. He eventually found it anyway, and eagerly entered the room to extend his offer to his house-guest.

 

His plan had worked. Really, it had been almost too successful. Jack simply wouldn't stop peppering him with questions, or asking for more work to do. The only reason Pitch didn't lose his temper was because Jack was indeed doing work for him. The boy hadn't really noticed in his excitement, but Pitch was simply observing him doing work that otherwise, Pitch would've had to do.

The brilliant plan had been to teach Jack how a clock works. Clockwork is difficult to learn; but Jack blew Pitch away and picked it up nearly immediately. Pitch wasn't complaining at all as Jack fixed clock after clock and begged for more to look at. Pitch had dozens of clocks throughout his home, nearly all of which he had found in human garbage dumps and brought back to his lair, never actually getting around to fixing them. With Jack's help, they would all be working properly by the end of the day. Perhaps when he was better, Pitch could even show him how to fix the body of the clock. Most of the clocks' bodies were dented or in need of paint and a good sanding, and if Jack found this much joy in fixing the inside workings, he was sure to enjoy fixing the body.

It was sad, really, just how much joy Jack did find in something as menial as clockwork. Pitch had always found it a relaxing hobby, but Jack was treating it like an obsession. Pitch supposed that that was likely because he'd never been taught to do anything like this before, which even a heartless being like Pitch found disheartening.

"Hey Pitch? I think I've fixed this one! Could you take a look?" Jack asked, excited. Suppressing both a sigh and a smile, Pitch stood and went to look at the clock Jack had just finished working on. It was an older clock, with an intricate body. A mantel clock from the looks of it, likely from the 1930's.

Pitch took it from Jack, who was still lying on the cot in the infirmary, and looked it over. It was a fine piece of workmanship, and Jack had it working perfectly again. "Very good," he commented. "I never would have taken you to be this good at a still-hobby." [A still hobby being a hobby like knitting. Something you do while sitting, without moving that much.] Jack beamed at the praise, but then his smile shrank slightly into a sheepishly hopeful smile.

"Do you think I could keep it? I mean, I don't really have anything to do with it, or anywhere to put it, but I really really like it, so I was just kinda wondering if you would possibly, maybe consider letting me have it." Pitch stared at him unblinkingly for several moments.

"Your ability to speak gibberish so fluently amazes me. Yes, you may keep the clock. If you wish, I could put it in a spare room," Pitch replied nonchalantly. Jack stared at him, looking shocked that he had said yes.

"Y-y-yeah! Yes, please! Thank you!" he stuttered, clearly not used to being given anything. Pitch rose with the clock and started to the door. He paused and offered Jack another clock–an offer that was quickly accepted. Pitch sent Onyx to find another one–and then left the room.

He had to find a guest room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading. God bless!


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